


Falling is the Essence of a Flower

by marzyciel



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aether Manipulation, Asphyxiation, Bad end, Begging, Blood, Body Horror, Captivity, Choking, Collars, Crying, Cutting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Eye Horror, F/M, Forced Arousal, Forced Orgasm, Forced Self-cannibalisation, Gags, Genital Mutilation, Humiliation, Immobilization, Implied/Referenced Throat Fucking, Jewelry, Knife Play, Loss of Autonomy, Nipple Play, Orgasm Denial, POV Second Person, Pain, Piercing Someone, Piercings, Reader Insert, Rope Bondage, Scarification, Spitting Into Somones Mouth, Starvation, Stockholm Syndrom, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Mutilation, Wax Play, Waxing Someones Eyes Shut, You want possessive & unhinged Emet-Selch well here you go, clit piercing, emet-selch is not a nice man, graphic description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 10:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzyciel/pseuds/marzyciel
Summary: There's still that smile on his lips, cold and unsettling, and you know he has something planned for you."Please," you whisper out frightened, not really knowing what you're pleading for."Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head, my pet. I'm going to take good care of you."The Warrior of Light looses to Emet-Selch, and he intends to stake his claim.
Relationships: Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV)/Reader, Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Falling is the Essence of a Flower

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes the weirdest braincell goes brrr and suddenly you write 11k words kfslfjsd
> 
> Please for the love of everything _**read the tags**_. I know sometimes the horny Emet-Selch braincell pings, and you feel compelled to read everything under the sun, but I'm not pulling any punches here. 
> 
> Shoutout to [sun_and_solace](/users/sun_and_solace) for fueling my brainworms and enduring my endless, pained screaming for the past 2 weeks while I worked on this ♥

You lost.

Your world is blurry, out of focus, when your body sinks to the floor; your broken weapon falling to the ground, clattering away from you uselessly.

Blood flows freely from your body - spilling from your mouth down to your curled fingers, and you can only gasp with how excruciatingly painful every breath you attempt to take is.

At the height of your power, the light dispersed within you, merged with Ardbert, warriors from across the rift called to aid you, and you __lost__ \- to __him__.

All your efforts, and still you weren't good enough.

Steps echo across the empty expanse towards you, but you can't move, can't look up to watch him descend upon you, unable to meet your fate.

There was no hope left for you, only the creeping darkness at the edge of your vision that would send you into a sweet, swift death.

* * *

You wake in complete darkness, and immediately you know, you're still alive.

Even this, you can't do right.

"Emet-Selch?" you whisper, but there's no answer; your stale breath and the slow beating of your heart are the only sounds in this yawning abyss you find yourself in.

Again, you call his name - louder, more desperate - and this time, something around you __shifts__. There's a change in the air, an unnatural coldness which seeps into your skin, making gooseflesh rush across your body.

You cross your arms across your chest, rubbing your skin as you try to warm yourself, and that's when you realize - with astounding little surprise, that you're completely naked; stripped of every little piece of armor and cloth you once possessed.

"Awake, are we?"

His voice is but a whisper in the emptiness, and you try to tilt your head in his direction - however in this pitch black nothingness, you can't quite grasp where he is.

You feel fingers on your back, brushing against your spine in a way that makes your skin tingle, and you twist away from him with a disgruntled hiss.

Another touch across your calves makes you jump up and away. Stumbling, you stretch your arms wildly to your sides, unable to catch neither him nor any other point of direction.

"What kind of sick game is this?" you hiss.

"Mh, yes" he hums by your ear, and you swing an arm around to catch him, and passing through nothing again, "Mayhaps a bit more serious than a game, although you __could__ say that I am playing with you."

You're disoriented, nauseated, and can barely breathe with how fast your anxiety jumps to your throat. The darkness starts to make you claustrophobic, and your heart beats like an anxious little bird with how hard it tries out to fly out of your chest.

Damn him, __damn him__! Why was this added torture necessary?! Wasn't the humiliation that you lost, and are now at his mercy not enough?

You nearly scream when his arms sneak around you to drag you back against his chest. His nose draws up your throat, up to your earlobe, hot breath fanning on your naked throat; you're __sure__ he's unmistakably there this time.

No touch was more detestable than his, and now you had him right there to vent your agitations against. With a deep drag of air into your chest, you tilt yourself forwards to __slam__ your forehead back against his nose - and effectively stumbling backwards to crash against the harsh ground with a grunt of pain.

A disappointed sigh drags through the room, while you try to get up from your awkward position.

"Enjoy your stay, __hero__ ," his voice echoes, "Mayhaps you will learn some __manners__ in the meantime."

* * *

Time stretches endlessly.

At first, you're left to stumble blindly; searching for walls that you were never able to reach, not even when you sunk to the floor, trying to use the ground as a guide to find a door, or any other means to escape.

Frustration wells within you fast, and you end up collapsed on the ground, screaming, crying - his name, his title, __all the ways you hate him.__

Until you fall silent again, curled up tightly, crying only for yourself.

You can't tell how much hours, days, or perhaps weeks pass in your prison, with nothing but your own mind to entertain you.

It's even hard to tell if you're really sleeping - still you __must__ have been unconscious at some point as you find yourself with your wrists bound above your head, and your legs stretched straight to the ground. You also know that you get water in this time - even though it's all you get, and only if you truly need it. When that cup of liquid bumps gently against your lips, you only have time to drink before you're alone again.

You feel hollowed out, __empty__ , with only hunger clawing at your stomach.

You're starved, deprived of everything that would keep you sane, and you never expect to see anything besides this endless darkness again.

And then, when your loneliness was frazzling your mind, and your hunger clawed painfully inside you, there at the edge of your sanity, Emet-Selch comes to fetch you.

Doors you were unable to find slide open with a grating __screech__ , and you let out a painful groan as a dim light floods into your cell, illuminating Emet-Selch as an eerie silhouette in the doorway.

"Are you ready to behave yet?"

You whimper in response - you don't know, you _ _truly don't know__. You only know that you can't stay like this anymore, and you're ready to agree to anything he has to offer.

"Y-yes," you press out croaking, surprised by how rough your own voice sounds from disuse.

"Hm," he hums thoughtfully. His hand grabs you roughly by the chin, tilting your head up to look you in the eyes. You shrink back from his cold gaze, letting out a pitiful whine when your raw, bloody wrists tug against your bonds.

"Well," his smile is so cold, and all you can do is stare back with wide, frightful eyes, "we shall see about that, won't we?" He strokes softly across your cheek, fingers trailing over your haggard, fallen-in face. You don't want the tears to come, yet they still spillover as you sob brokenly at the first gentle touch you're permitted to have after an eternity of nothingness.

Seeking more of that warmth, you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. However, your greed isn't rewarded for as soon as you seek out more, his gentle touch leaves you again.

You don't want to be left alone; even if the only one who provides you with comfort is a man who so obviously despises you.

"So filthy," he notes absently. His fingers rake through your matted hair, and he watches the strands fall back down heavily, framing your face like a curtain.

He doesn't say much else while he examines you further. You shiver with every glide of his leather gloves up and down your skin. No part of you goes untouched; from your neck - where his hands linger too tightly for but a moment - to your chest, all the way down to your belly.

Your breath comes out in fast huffs, your pulse racing fast with fear under his fingertips. You don't know what he wants to do with you, and you're so helpless to it all - there's nowhere to run, and no way to fight in your position. Everything that remains for you to do is hang here helplessly.

Grasping your hips firmly, he slides to his knees before you. As he parts your legs, you let out a trained cry - they've been so stiff from disuse that they immediately cramp up with the movement; from your toes to your upper thighs, you feel nothing but agony.

Emet-Selch clicks his tongue impatiently, and pays your antics no mind. Without care for your wellbeing, he moves one of your legs over his shoulders to spread you further apart. Like this, you're completely bared to him. His breath ghosts over your apex like this, and a fresh wave of tears rolls down your cheeks.

Humiliation burns in your chest as his fingers drift through the wry, overgrown hair on your cunt, slipping between your folds to pry them apart. Without any slickness to accompany the glide, the leather drags against your skin painfully, making you hiss out an unwanted whimper.

"So much in the way," his voice is barely audible as he pinches your folds between thumb and fingers, dragging your folds this way and that.

It seems to last forever.

It's not in any way sexual in the least, and that makes it somehow __worse__ to you; you can't make __sense__ of what he wants to achieve with this, and it unsettles you deep down.

"I certainly have my work cut out for me," he says more to himself than to you - and just like that, it's over.

He withdraws from you, completely. Rising from his kneeling position, he lets your leg drop back down to the ground, patting your thigh in a strange, affectionate manner - like you're a _ _good pet__ \- and you wince with each impact.

There's still that smile on his lips, cold and unsettling, and you know he has something planned for you.

" _ _Please__ ," you whisper out frightened, not really knowing what you're pleading for.

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head, my pet. I'm going to take good care of you."

He pets your head, and every further question you might've had dies in your throat. With each stroke of his thumb across your cheek you feel yourself slip more and more, until a heavy-weighted unconsciousness overtakes your mind.

* * *

Consciousness comes to you slowly.

The very first thing you notice is the dim light shining behind your closed eyes and relief rushes through you. Tears gather, and get caught in your eyelashes, from the sheer relief to be finally let out of the darkness after so long.

Slowly, you open your eyes with careful blinks, groaning with how much this even this low of a light hurt you. With your vision steadily coming into focus, and the blurriness melts away, you're able to take in your surroundings bit by bit.

What you find yourself in is a small bedroom, barely big enough for the bed you're kneeling on to fit in. The large windows took over the entire wall to your left, Amaurots vague silhouettes glittering through the glass.

You want to move off the bed to look around more, to stretch your legs and body after being confined for so long but that's when you notice; __your arms are still tied above your head__.

Squirming, you feel the skillfully tied rope rubbing into your skin, and you huff in frustration when you realize you're not going anywhere.

You're in such a vulnerable position; kneeling on a soft bed, breasts and body tied, arms raised above your head, your wrists tied tightly together to keep you knotted to the ceiling, and your spine forced into a slight arch

And the worst of it: you're all alone again.

Relief and unease war within you as your fuzzy mind crashes awake with the sudden reality of your situation.

You've certainly been __cleaned__ , for one.

You feel, and smell, fresh - a rather nice floral scent that feels so painfully familiar - when your fingers curl, you notice that your nails have been trimmed, and your hair is definitely shorter as well.

What's even more unnerving is the slight __burn__ between your legs; it's a humiliating realization that he had __rid__ you of your pubic hair while you were swimming in your forced unconsciousness.

In your mind, none of this has any real purpose. You don't feel as __wrecked__ as you imagine you would if he'd __done__ something else - and that is a rather terrifying thought in and on itself.

He couldn't have left you like this, could he?

"Emet-Selch?" you whisper fearfully into the empty room. And at first, there's no response - leaving you to struggle alone with your own panicked thoughts as your only company.

Your breathing comes out in harsh pants, ever little frightened gasp showing the movement of your ribcage through your mangled form.

"Emet-Selch?" you ask again, and like this, with a ghost of a touch - barely noticeable but distinctively __there__ \- a large hand settles across your lower back, traveling upwards to your neck with feather-light touches.

You're spiraling into hyperventilation at this point. Even though you want to be relieved that you're not completely abandoned, it's his presence you're dreading most of all. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he yanks you back __harshly__.

Fire golden eyes meet yours, and you let out a frightening whimper. You almost forgot how angry he could look, how absolutely terrifying and imposing he could be if he put any effort into doing so.

"I-I'm s-sorry," you whimper in hopes of placating whatever displeases him about you this time. His face remains stony, however his hand in your hair buries itself deeper against your scalp.

"I do enjoy your suffering so," he says with a thoughtful hum. The fingers of his free hand trail across your lips, traveling down to your chin and onto your neck, without putting any real pressure on you for now. Your throat convulses against his grip, and you count yourself lucky that this position bears enough familiarity to you by now that you're able to deal with this in some twisted way.

He lets you go with a low laugh, leaving you free to take as much air in as you need. You're so occupied dealing with your newfound freedom that you barely notice the slip of dark red between his palms.

"It's fascinating to watch you struggle," he continues with obvious enjoyment as he starts to loop rope around your throat, leaving you to mewl and quiver with dreadful anticipation.

"The fallen hero," another loop of rope; you wish he'd stop talking, "I must say, having you at my mercy is __riveting__.", and one last time, until it sits snugly against your neck like a collar, encasing your entire throat in red.

A low chuckle serves as your only warning; he tugs on those loose ends __hard__ , tightening the rope around our windpipe, and you begin to choke helplessly. Heaving gasps of terror escape you, your fingers scrabbling at the rope holding you up in fright.

You can't breathe, __he won't let you breathe__ -

Your legs spasm in an attempt to flail - still so stiff from disuse - and your feet try to find purchase in the soft bed below you as you struggle and struggle to get even one puff of air into your withering lungs.

Drool runs down your chin, little coughs forcing themselves out of you the more you try to heave in, and all he does is watch your desperate struggle with a satisfied smile.

" _ _Good Girl.__ "

With that, he lets you go, and you're finally granted the freedom to greedily fill your lungs with desperate gasps of air, making you almost choke as you try to take more in than you can handle.

You feel his hands tugging on your wrists as he ties the loose parts of your rope together with them. The tied, makeshift collar tightens again - no more than a threat this time, but enough to make the pressure uncomfortable.

"I wouldn't try to move too much if I were you, least you choke yourself - not that it matters to __me__ , mind you."

Emet-Selch settles so casually in front of you, so relaxed in his seated position and not anything like a man who just choked someone else for his own amusement.

Fear twists your face anew when your gaze falls onto the knife he holds in his hand; a beautiful, gilded thing, carved with curved runes, which reflect the low light of the room on the sharp edge.

"You're so honest in your fear, dearest pet," he smiles brightly, so full of malicious intent, and you find yourself unable to truly argue with him.

When he leans forward, you automatically try to lean back, only for the rope to tighten around your neck again. You strain in your bindings, panting with strained huffs, and he takes this chance to bring the knife to your face.

Defeated, and in need for more air, you sway forward again, forcing yourself to stay still when that knife comes to rest against your temple, caressing you with the flat side of the blade.

"Tell me what you think," he murmurs, twisting the knife along your cheek, letting it wander down to your chin to tip your head backwards, the knife point digging painfully into your flesh, "What am I going to do with you?"

You swallow nervously, scrambling to string a cohesive sentence together.

"K-kill me?" you manage to ask tentatively, your voice wavering and watery from the tears rolling down your cheeks.

By the twelve, you hope he does.

You whimper in pain as the tip digs harder and harder against your chin, right on the edge of breaking skin. Pain is not something new to you, you endured so much __worse__ , and yet...

 _ _And yet__ , it only took him this little to reduce you into nothing but a creature filled with dread.

Emet-Selch only laughs, his warm breath ghosting over your face, and not for the first time, he gives you the impression that he's about to kiss you.

"Look how frightened you are," his tone is airy, mocking, "No my dear, no no, not at all. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already."

The knife caresses along your jaw, going down the rope on your neck with a few gentle taps before he lets it rest against the hollow dip of your collar bone; the metal is so cold against your skin.

"You see, you're __mine__ , hero. My __personal__ spoils of war. I triumphed over you, and now well," he laughs again, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek to then whisper into your ear, "And __now__ , I get to do whatever I wish with you."

He snaps, and you find yourself gagged with a knotted piece of cloth tightly tied behind your head. At your questioning frown he merely shrugs casually. "You'll need something to bite down on."

Then, the knife trails down your breastbone again, and you flinch, breath stuttering in your chest. Careful, meticulous with every stroke, and your skin remains unbroken - he barely has to dig the tip into you to make you quiver.

"Now, now, none of that," Emet-Selch sighs frustrated. He tuts at your antics, like he's dealing with an unruly, unreasonable child.

Not once does the knife mapping out your body stop - and neither does our trembling halt, nor your fearful little whimpers which spill forth behind your gag.

With the sharp edge this time, he begins to slide the blade over your side. Every sharp little scratch across your ribs leaves you a shuddering, squirming mess.

Anticipation rises within you. Your imagination is running wild, it feels like Emet-Selch is slipping that knife into you already - yet, no pain follows for now.

Your eyes fall shut, and messy tears stream down your face again. You just wish he would hurt you already; to give you something you could __deal__ with instead of winding you up further and further.

"Look at you," he says as he finally slides that knife down to your heaving belly. With every swelling breath you can feel yourself pressing against that sharp edge, "We're not even at the main event and you're __weeping__ like a little child."

And then - when he finally places that first cut right below your belly button - you __screech__. You try to twist away from the agony, but all you manage to do is choke yourself again.

"Oh don't be so __dramatic__ ," he sighs, "It's not even __that__ deep, surely a __hero__ like you can take a __little__ more."

He drags the blade again to widen the cut, another strangled scream escaping your throat. You can feel the blood flow down between your legs, before he catches the flow with the blade.

"Look," he says and you squint your eyes open to watch a single perfect ruby red droplet run down the edge. Yet, his own gaze keeps obsessively on the cut he gave you.

"A perfect spot for a mark, don't you think so?" he hums, pressing his thumb against your wound, forcing a wheezing whine out of you, "I thought some pretty jewelry would be enough but ah mayhaps a branding would be more fitting for you."

His thumb digs even deeper against your skin. "Hmm I'm a greedy man however, so why not both? I'm sure you'd love to be full of my marks, wouldn't that make you happy, my pet?"

It's not that he really wants an answer from you - all your little agonizing noises and muffled pleas only serving to kindle his amusement.

You tug hard against your bonds with hopeless defiance as he traces intricate lines with his blade on your stomach. He's not cutting you, only teasing you with harder dips of the knife tip.

Never have you felt this helpless; you can't do anything but take whatever he deigns to give you, forcing you into submission with every little cruel __violation__.

The knife lifts, and Emet-Selch stops touching you. If it's only for this moment, you allow yourself to breathe again, letting your head hang down, and your eyes slip shut.

You hang like this, helpless with anticipation still tense down to your spine, aching and trembling.

Suddenly the coldness of the blade returns, the flat side pressing across the length of your slit. The cold metal makes you screech in surprise, drool spilling past your gag as your legs slam shut on instinct.

"Stupid girl!" he hisses, disappointment dripping off his words like poison. "you should be grateful that I'm not as dimwitted as you!"

His fist shoots out to grab the ropes above your head, and you scream as you're dragged forwards to choke again. "Lucky for you, I had the presence of mind to drag the knife away in time or you would've __impaled__ yourself, you __stupid__ girl."

Gurgling sobs spill forth behind your gag, muffled words of apology soon following in a wave of heaves.

With a frustrated sigh, he lets you go again, and places the knife on the bed - with both hands now free, he pries your clamped thighs apart.

A shiver rolls down your spine as he forces you further and further apart, your atrophied muscles feeling like they're going to snap right under his hands.

You cry out under the strain, wanting to twist your body away from your touch without any means of escaping him.

"Cease your struggling, __pet__ ," he snaps, and you stiffen in fright at the harsh command, "I have standards, and we're here to make you fit those standards more, __yes__?"

"All of this," his hand slides between your thighs to feel across your slit, fondling your labia roughly, "has to go, __wouldn't you agree__?"

"Nono _ _nononono__ -" you sob frantically behind the gag, shaking your head in desperate denial - you'd never agree to something like __this__. The prospect of what he was about to do to you has you trapped in ice-cold terror.

You struggle like you've never struggled before, the rope rubbing your skin raw with how much you twist and tug your body around - and yet, he moves you like he wants, __like you're not struggling at all__.

When he has you like he wants - legs spread wide, body painfully twisted, head bent backwards to the ceiling, making the rope around your neck tighten - he snaps with a flourishing motion, and your body freezes in position.

You're unable to move, only allowed to gag and swallow, to breathe in heaves and gasps, and to await your fate like this.

You're a plaything for his amusement, nothing more.

Tears overflow and spill out of the corners of your eyes. You feel his hand gliding between your parted legs again, the leather dragging roughly against your slit as he parts your lower lips. He takes the flesh between his fingers, and tugs it to stretch painfully.

"Poor little dove," he croons, stretching your flesh more an more until you __scream__ \- only then does he pick up the knife from the bed, "unable to struggle or fight."

Then, without much more fanfare, he goes to work - another sharp tug followed by an even sharper slice through your flesh. Your teeth and tongue __slam__ against the gag in your mouth while flares of white, hot pain rushes through you. You want to claw into your bonds, to vent your agony somehow, but even that little relief is not granted to you.

Oh, he takes his time, listening to your every cry, every scream like it's the sweetest symphony to his ears.

"To know your suffering in such an __intimate__ way-" he sighs delighted, "how you sob and scream only for me. Your pain and pleasure granted to you through me, for as long as I __will it__."

Heat and blood pool freely as he continues to cut your skin off silently, drenching his white gloves and the bedding below you in red. A part of you wishes he would continue __talking__ \- mock you, humiliate you, tell you in detail what he was going to do to you, anything to listen to besides your own, broken voice.

__It hurts._ _

Ever slice, every tug - _ _it hurts__ without end.

You don't want to feel this, __any of it__.

"See, there's no need to fret," he says casually, as if he's not the one forcing your stillness.

__The next slice comes._ _

And the __next__.

Relentless, brutal, the pain never ending, never fading; it hurts so much it makes you sick to your stomach - and yet, no matter how much you wish to fade into unconsciousness, the soothing darkness never comes.

He pauses for a moment when you burst into sobs, humming in thought. "You see? A little twist of your aether is all I need to keep you in this precious moment with me."

Terror makes you choke on nothing; you're coughing, heaving as your mind reels not only with the attempt to __comprehend__ the pain as he continues to __cut away at you__ , but also with the inability to slip away - wherever or not you would keep your sanity after this would certainly be of no consequence for him.

With the next slice, you start to froth at the mouth, the liquid overflowing while you convulse only on the inside, hoping that at least __this__ would make you pass out.

Emet-Selch, however, merely puts one of his hands to your jaw, and your muscles yield under his touch as he turns your head to the side to let all of that gathered spittle run down the corners of your mouth.

"What a filthy animal you are," his thumb smears saliva and blood across your cheek, "A broken little thing wrought down by suffering."

Emet-Selch slides off the bed and into a crouch in front of you to examine his handiwork so far. His fingers pry at your flesh, harsh leather sliding through your wounds as he hums with twisted delight at your mangled cunt.

"It seems I was a bit ah __sloppy__ ," he sighs with an audible smile, poking at the scraps of skin he left you with, "Ah, no matter, I just have to be a bit more precise this time."

You start sobbing even before you feel the cold metal on your flesh again. Everything between your legs feels like a bloody mess, you can't tell what else he wants to take from you, and you __dread__ the answer.

Fear and agony are the only two things left within you.

 _ _The slicing begins again__ \- this time, it feels more precise, like he's __shaving you__ , ridding you of the mistakes he left you with.

While your consciousness isn't allowed to fade, you still try to __will yourself away from it all__ ; to be here and yet not, stuck in that space of nothing you carved out in your head to escape from him. You drift away - slowly but surely making yourself numb to it all.

That is until he taps the flat side of the blade against your clit, jolting you back into the present.

Sniffling, you screw your eyes shut tightly, that knife's edge just teasingly sliding against your clit without slicing - your heart stutters in your chest with fright.

The more he rubs the blade against your clit, the stronger the sudden desire that drops through you, lighting you on fire, and carving through your pain to leave you whining.

"How __shameful__ ," his other hand caresses your bloodied slit, and you make a noise that was neither a shriek nor a moan, "to be aroused from this. You perverted __creature__."

The fiery arousal his touch leaves behind __fragments__ you, leaves you in shambles; you __shouldn't__ feel like this - no normal person would feel this right now.

Gulping in air through your nose, you try to scramble for a reason - __any reason__ \- and then you look down at him as best you can with your brows drawn into a forlorn, questioning frown, and you see him with that wicked, terrifying expression on his face, and you realize that he's __doing__ this to you.

"You're wet," he notes flatly, devoid of the mocking adoration he spoke with before. You want to shake your head, deny it - __deny him__ \- yet you can't tell if the steady flow between your legs comes from the blood, or the arousal he forces you to feel.

Roughly, and without further warning, he shoves two fingers inside you. You're __reeling__ with the confusing sensations running through you, and the moan that wretches out of you is a gurgling mess.

Arousal from this should be impossible - he was just __violating__ you mere moments ago - and yet, here you are, clenching around his fingers inside of you. It's not fair, how he knows where to pull and push at your aether, the very __core of your being__ , to make you melt like this against your will.

"You're so very __sensitive__ ," he sneers with a downtick of his lips, "Even as I cut you up, as you cry in agony, your depraved little cunt can't help itself."

His fingers thrust roughly inside you and they're accompanied by an uncomfortable sounding __squelch__ \- a mortifying, horrid noise, resounding in your own ears.

Whimpering, meek little 'stop's' spill from you - the only real defiance you still have left. You want the pain back, you __want__ to feel something that __makes sense__. This was such a different kind of torture; how deplorable of him to claw at your very essence.

"Stop?!" he laughs, scissoring his fingers apart inside you.

"Well, I __suppose__ I could leave you like this-"

He hums thoughtfully, and yet, his swift thrusts don't let up as he drags against your upper walls with a painful dig of his nails.

"Brutalized-"

His fingers press deeper, his hand neatly slotting against your ruined exterior,

"Bleeding-"

A third finger slips inside you, and his thrusts become fast, __ramming__ inside and out, forcing screams and pleasured moans alike from you.

"And so very close to __starving__ to death."

You feel our insides twitch around him; you're getting close to that edge with every rough thrust, __so very close__. Heat rises to your face, and every other plea you could make dies in your throat.

He doesn't stop, not until he has you at your highest point of your need - and then, with a satisfied sigh, he retreats from you. You're melting with need, the sudden emptiness your left with makes you feel like a part of your soul is caving in.

Cruel, __cruel__ , what a cruel bastard he is-

He grabs you by the chin, your own fluids smearing against your skin as he drags you forward to the point where the rope digs just at the edge between discomfort and cutting off your air supply.

"There's no reason to spoil our time together, is there? Considering I've already put so __much__ work and effort into you, and I do so __hate__ when you __ruin__ all my _ _labor__."

Your heart drops to your stomach, and the rest of your pride shatters away under his hateful gaze.

That's how he looked at you the entire time, wasn't it? No matter how jovial and entertained he sounded, there was always that hatred, that disgust so plainly on his face when he seized you up with his sharp, golden eyes.

Hiccupping a few times, you start to weep in honesty now, your mind disintegrating with the sudden steadfast realization of your situation; there truly was no hope for you in the first place.

Hopelessness and despair claw inside you as you beg and beg __and beg__ him for forgiveness in high-pitched, broken, muffled notes.

He says nothing; he merely lets your chin go, nose curled back in a disgusted snarl.

Dipping back between your legs again, intent on fully focusing on his __artistic__ work on your cunt, he pinches the hood of your clit delicately to drag it forth and back, settling the knife against your sensitive skin.

You'd flinch if you could, but you can't even muster a panicked noise anymore with how utterly torn apart you feel - wrecked, drooling, tears spilling and spilling without and as your eyes grow unfocused to take you away again from the harsh reality you cannot face anymore.

A series of harsh slaps across your cheek forcefully drags you back, and then another, and __another one__ , until your nose starts to bubble with blood from the harsh impacts.

"Don't you __dare__ slip away from this. You __will__ face your reality, __girl__ , if not through arousal then through pain."

The sudden cut however makes you howl, eyes widening with horror as it feels like you're being split in half.

"I want all of this - all of __you__ \- exposed to me," he hisses, settling for the next cut against your vulnerable organ, "all prettied up for me to use as I see fit Just __imagine__ how sensitive you're going to be without all of this useless flesh getting in the way of my attentions."

The next slice comes faster, and then another, before his touch, and the knife, finally finally leave you completely.

He rises to his full height, lording over your bound form, and with a simple snap, your body is yours to control again With the forced hold on you gone, you're finally free to sack boneless in your ropes, head rolling to the side to escape the tightness on your throat; whimpering, weeping, broken - just like he wanted you.

"Look, my darling, __broken__ pet," his grin is wicked, full of promise of even further terror, and you cower in place, "Look how much I took from you."

Blinking blearily at the command, your eyes fall down to the offered palm he holds out to you.

It's soaked in blood - __your blood__ \- and your eyes widen as a blood curdling scream rips from your throat at the sight of your own flesh laying right there on his palm, his thumb caressing those discarded parts like they're the most precious thing he ever held.

You screw your eyes shut tightly, heaving with disgust. You don't __want__ to see this, __you don't want to see this__ -

Twisting your head away in an attempt to hide, you can't do anything more than let out terrified little sobs.

He huffs frustrated, grabbing the rope holding your neck, and drags you forward. Your eyes are forced to open with how suddenly your air supply is cut off again, making you stare right into his proffered hand.

"You will __not__ hide from me," he hisses, shaking the rope, and effectively your body with it, "Do you understand? You __will__ look, you will acknowledge your __suffering__."

He let's the rope go, and in the next moment, he rips the gag out of your mouth, spittle flowing out of your parted lips as soon as you're freed. With your tongue peeking out shyly between your parted lips, you take in heaving breath after breath.

"P-pl-ease- n-"

"Aaah, you __must__ be starving, yes?" he practically sings, intentionally misinterpreting your plea. His palm drifts closer to your face, and you recoil with fright.

Your nose scrunches up in disgust and yet, you can't bring yourself to disobey again, fearing his wrath upon you, so you keep staring with your heart racing in your throat, and tears that make your vision blurry.

"Considering that I've not fed you in __days__ , you must hunger even for a little morsel, pet." There's sadistic delight in his laughter as he shakes his palm to make the gathered flesh shudder with the movement.

As if this would make it any more appealing to you.

"Come, come now! Open up further," this time, he doesn't wait for your compliance - instead he uses his free hand to pinch your nose shut.

As soon as your mouth falls open further to take in a deep gulp of air is when he strikes, smashing his palm against your mouth, letting your own flesh fall down onto your tongue, and tipping your head back to make you swallow.

You gag, body twisting in repulsion - all you can taste is the coppery tang of your own flesh and blood on your tongue.

"Be good, and __eat up__! You __do__ want to breathe again, yes?," he lectures you sternly, and you tentatively bring yourself to __swallow__. The act alone makes you __heave__ with disgust - and yet, with your air running out, you force it down with audible, retching noises.

Only when he's satisfied with you, he withdraws his palm, leaving you free to let your head fall forward, helpless little coughs forcing themselves out of you.

"See, you can be a good little degenerate if you want to be," Emet-Selch purrs in delight, smearing blood across your chin and cheek as he pets you softly.

You __crumble__ with the gentle touch. Burying yourself against his hand to seek out more of that little, terrible act of false comfort. An even more broken noise presses out of you as he caresses the shell of your ear.

With a snap, he cleans you of all blood, and your wounds close just like __that__ , making you gasp in surprise. You're grateful to be rid of the reminders of what he did to you, even if your sex still feels so tender __and strange__.

Another snap and your ropes disperse into shadows, and you fall forward - boneless, tired, with your skin rubbed red, raw and bloody from your previous struggles.

Falling forward, you barely manage to catch yourself against his chest, fingers grasping in the fur of his jacket with as much strength as you still possess, your face completely smashed against him.

" _ _W-why__ ," you're voice croaks, and you're too exhausted to truly speak, "Y-you're s-soft in o-one m-moment and ha-harsh in the n-next-" you tug desperately at him, your body curling further against his.

It doesn't make sense - you __want__ Emet-Selch to make __sense__.

Exasperatedly, Emet-Selch merely sighs, petting your head in little strokes as you shiver and weep. You don't know what else to do; you feel so lost, so __hurt__ , and you need this paltry mockery of comfort.

Even if it's coming from the man who so mercilessly unmade you for his own amusement.

"It's your own fault really," he mutters and brushes a few strands of your hair away from your forehead, "Best not to dwell on it, pet."

When he hugs you close, and lays you back into the soft covers you think that you've finally earned a little rest, that he's __done__ with you for the moment.

What a foolish thought to have.

"You can take more, yes?" he asks but it isn't a question, not really. You stiffen in terror, clinging harder to him. The fur gathers neatly between your clawing fingers, and you shake your head frantically.

Clicking his tongue, Emet-Selch grasps your wrists roughly, detangling you from him with not an inch of kindness in his iron grip. "Well, that's too bad for you then, __isn't it__? See, if you wouldn't frustrate me like this, I wouldn't have to be so harsh to you!" he laughs as he pins you to the bed beneath him, "We're not done until you're __all__ prettied up for me~"

Besides your tension, there's no other resistance for him to work against as he fastens your wrists against the bedposts. He then spreads your legs again to admire what he did to you there.

You're shivering with how __proud__ he seems to be. Unable to bear the sight, you bury your head in the pillow and shut your eyes tightly.

"So close to perfection," he sighs happily, tracing a single knuckle along your exposed clit in a sweet tease. You shudder, trapped between repulsion and the built arousal that never went away, as he brushes against your exposed bud.

Shame makes your face flush hotly; so much slick pours out of you freely as he fondles you. Without anything else getting in the way, you're soaked in mere seconds.

He hums and plays with you more; rolling your sensitive organ between his fingers, watching every twitch and squirm of yours, listening to every suppressed gasp and moan with rapt attention.

" _ _This__ ," he says evenly, sliding a single digit inside your slick hole, "is your __only__ redeeming quality. A nice, tight hole for me to use and abuse. The only __real__ blessing your __accursed Mother__ ever gifted you with."

You clench so tightly that you draw him further into your body; so hotly does embarrassment rush through you with every word.

"I think a word of thanks is in order," He laughs at your wildly flushing face, and wedges another one into your tight heat. This time - instead of invoking pain - his thrusts are __precise__ , seamlessly hitting every little weak spot inside you, making you __melt__ against our will.

"Go on," his free hand settles along your jaw with his thumb brushing over your lips, "Do thank your __wretched Mother__ for blessing you with such a __pretty little cunt.__ "

Your eyes snap open with a gasp, and you turn to stare at him incredulously.

"Now, now, __before__ you think of defying me, keep in mind that I may be inclined to be ah... __nicer__ to you, __if__ you do as I say."

With his thumb retracting, and his hand sliding down your body all the way to your stomach, you press your lips together into a thin line, averting your eyes to stare defeated at the ceiling.

You can't remember the last time you were __this__ humiliated, ashamed, or __broken__. When he kicks his fingers apart inside of you, and caresses the entire exposed length of your clit again, you __whine__.

"I c-can't," you sniffle, " _ _I can't s-say th-that, I can't-!__ "

" _ _Suuure__ you can," he laughs, "Thank her for blessing you with such a delightful little cunt to please your Ascian __Master__ with."

He fucks you relentlessly now, reaching so much deeper inside you than you thought possible. You're forcibly dragged to that edge again, while you war with the conflict inside you, and then, when you moan and burn with shame as your orgasm builds and builds, he slots his hand snugly against you, crushing your clit under his palm and staying completely still.

" _ _Do it__ ," he growls, his hand on your stomach fanning apart, and you feel like your womb is suddenly melting with bright hot arousal.

You shatter like glass.

" _ _Th-thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!!!__ " you babble, high-pitched and desperate, taken apart by disgusting need. Your hips buck wildly against his hand, desperate to feel that peak. Your tears come again, cascading down your face while you scream out your thanks to your Mother in humiliation.

"Say it __properly, girl__." His fingers dig into your soft skin, and you feel your entire aetherial being twist under him.

"Thank you, M-mother H-Hydaelyn for bl-blessing mmmeeee," you screech and he rewards you with another finger inside you, resuming his thrusts with vigor, " _ _withSuchADelightfulLittleCuntToPleaseMyAscianMasterWiiith!!!__ " The rest of it leaves you in one single, breathless __scream__ , chest heaving with strain.

Emet-Selch throws his head back and cackles, retracting completely from you before you can hit that sweet release, and you continue to yell and wail desperately, with your legs flailing wildly, and your hips thrusting into nothingness.

"You really said it!" he giggles over your flailing body. His hands shoot out to grab your throat and push you into the mattress, "I can't believe you, you disgusting, __filthy__ animal!"

Blood rushes in your ears, you heave, your breath coming in strained puffs while you hyperventilate below him, your mind unable to catch up with the crass denial he just put you under.

His entire form is shaking with amusement, his face twisted with a teeth bearing grin. "Oh, I __hope__ She listened to Her __chosen hero__ ," he spits in your mouth and thrusts his soaked fingers in it right after. You're gagging desperately, arms tugging at your bonds with your torso twitching in need of air.

You look in his manic, hate filled face, your own brows dragging together into a forlorn frown, begging him with your watery eyes; you're fading fast, darkness creeping on the edge of your vision.

Your flailing halts.

Your body grows still as that final wisp of air runs out.

You're falling.

Fading.

His face disappears from your sight-

And then you can breath again, your head tilting back with every desperate gasp filling your lungs. With how many chokings, and excruciating things you were put through already, your limbs feel like they're made of lead, that unshed orgasm the only thing making you twitch still.

"I said I would be nicer," he smiles and kisses your cheek, as if he did you a great service by not breaking your neck. You barely manage to react anymore.

"Mmh we got carried away again, but no matter."

Again, he withdraws, and you're longing for his warmth back, feeling absolutely disgusted with yourself. The snap makes your fingers twitch, and the clattering of metal next to your head sends a shiver down your spine.

You whimper when the unmistakable sound of __jewelry__ being shifted around reaches your ears; already you're preparing yourself for the pain he will undoubtedly inflict on you.

"I know what color fits your soul," he mutters in thought, as he ponders over his decision, picking up different piercings to examine them, "however, I want to see you drowned __in mine__."

From the corner of your eye you see a needle settling against the soft flesh of your nose, and you tense as it pierces your skin. It's a __faster pain__ , not as horrendous as the knife, and you try to breath through it as he slots a small ring into the newly made hole.

Your breath hitches when he slowly slides the needle across your face to your left ear, teasing the spot behind the lobe in a small caress for a moment.

You ball your fists together in an attempt to stay __still__ while he works the needle into your earlobe. The chiming of the earring unnerves you as he slots it inside you, feeling and seeing when he connects little golden chains between the one in your ear to the ring in your nose so that they fan softly against your cheekbone.

Emet-Selch taps the needle down our face to your chest, laying it to rest between your breasts. Now, he's free to cup them both in his large hands, massaging your flesh roughly, and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

A stifled moan leaves you, that lingering arousal from the earlier ordeal shooting right back up again as he twists your sensitive nubs up to strain your tits in a lift.

"Mh, I always liked them small and sensitive," he says gleefully when you bow your back to ease the strain of the pull. You're unable to tell if he means his __trophies__ , or your breasts.

"You're moving your hips, __little slut__."

You freeze, utterly mortified when you realize he's __correct__. You force yourself back to stillness again, clamping your legs together in shame only to promptly fling them apart again with a bewildered __howl__.

With how utterly __exposed__ our clit is, it rubbed freely between your thighs, and the uncomfortable feeling of pleasure shudders through you again; there's no way for you to hide from him without __suffering__.

"Are you still so wound up? Or do you __perhaps__ start to take a liking to the pain? Hm, little pet?" you shake your head in denial, you would __never__ like this kind of suffering, __never__.

He just shrugs while he continues to toy with your breasts. "Not that it matters, we both know I can always __make__ you enjoy it."

Humming a little tune of excitement when you shrivel below him, he resumes his work on your body.

He tugs one of your nipples up, stretching your flesh to its limits before he picks up the needle again and drives it right through you, neatly sliding the jewelry in with a sweet chime.

Your back bows out in an agonized arch, legs flailing at his sides; and again it's a pain that comes and goes, a momentary hurt which you can stomach, even as he gives you no time to rest while he does the same thing to your other nipple.

The jewelry feels intricate as they lay cool against your chest, and you think the attachment is some sort of crystal formation. They __feel__ like they possess a certain kind of aethereal energy, and your breathing comes out a little harder.

Golden chains connect your piercings, and you squirm when he wipes away a smear of blood on your freshly, broken skin.

"I have a pretty little collar to go with this," he murmurs enthralled, his finger swirling teasingly against your chains, "Mmmh we'll see when your bruises fade."

He tugs against your chains, making the jewelry on your breasts chime, and your skin breaks out into gooseflesh.

You tense only when you realize he's going lower on you still, his fingers now pinching the skin of your belly button to drive the needle through again with far less fanfare. The hanging crystal rolls against your skin while he works a set of chains around your hips as well.

When he pries your legs apart further, you whimper in fright, a string of soft 'No's' falling from your lips, but he doesn't listen as he works you apart, shifting himself under you until he has your hips resting in his lap.

" _ _Yes__ ," he hisses as he taps your sensitive, exposed clit. You let out another forlorn whine, your thighs tensing around him. Your hips move against him once, automatically seeking that sweet warmth he provides.

You don't want to be pent up like this, _ _no sane person would be still aroused__ , but you are still dancing that edge, and you have him to blame. Your arousal only twists to his whims, and you hate yourself for being unable to resist his __forced__ pull on your essence.

Given the cruel smile on his face, you're certain that he knows your thoughts - or at least, this particular one.

"Do you think you deserve a little orgasm?" he pokes the needlepoint gently against your clit, letting it circle and stroke against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your hips undulate on his lap, and you bite your lip, face twisting while you scramble to come up with an answer.

It tears you apart.

You don't __want__ to cum from this, you don't __want__ to feel __any__ pleasure from this, and still, a small part of you, __craves__ just that little bit of bliss, that small bit of heaven.

"My patience is very finite," he rubs the full length of the needle against you now.

You can't come up with an answer.

"Yes or no, __pet__."

You shake your head, you don't want this; you're so frightened you can only lay there, tense with your heart leaping into your throat.

"I don't know," you sob, "I don't know _ _pleaseIdon'tknowIDON'TKNOW__ "

"Mmh, maybe I'll let you cum when I pierce your filthy little clit," he continues to tease you as he speaks, "Maybe you grow addicted to the pain that only I can give you."

You quiver as he rolls your clit between his fingers.

"Feel free to pass out this time."

The needle strokes lovingly against your clit one more time, and then, it dives in.

Emet-Selch makes your pleasure drop and __burst__ , but you're unable to hear the noise that comes out of your own mouth as your vision goes white and your hearing is drowned out by a high-pitched ringing noise in your ears.

* * *

Your entire world shattered, shrunken down to nothing more than this small bedroom, your cell, and most of all, to Emet-Selch; he was the pinpoint of your universe now, wherever you liked to or not.

There wasn't anyway for you to escape - you tried, you failed, you got abandoned in the darkness again and again until you learned your lesson.

The fine, gold chains he adorbs you with are flimsy at best, and even if you're chained to the bed, you could simply break them to be rid of them - but there wasn't any other place for you, _ _the bedroom didn't even have a door__ , so what choice do you have besides to act however he wishes.

Dejected and defeated, almost no trace of the former hero left in you.

The view outside the windows is your only piece of freedom. You're the songbird trapped in the gilded cage, his cage, and with time, you start to live only for him; your Master, your jailor, a man who despised you, and who's warmth you desperately sought.

As promised, when the bruises around your throat fade, he gifts you with a collar - jeweled with those same dark-violet crystals which hang from your body. It clasps tightly around your throat, and a small part of you dies away on the inside yet again.

There are days when you want to rip it all off; the collar, the rings, the loops around your wrists and ankles, but you bear it, even if you can't look at your own reflection anymore - if it meant he won't abandon you anymore, you'll bear it.

You let him let him adorn you, even if you're stiff and silent the entire time. You prefer these shorter visits, where he would present you with a new trinket, and you dutifully put it on only for him to disappear again when he's satisfied with your obedience.

__It's more difficult when he calls you a good pet, and rewards you with a soft kiss. You don't want to acknowledge how your heart skips a beat, with a plea for his presence getting stuck in your throat._ _

He never let's you forget about your place however, and you can never hope to fully escape his anger either. You're here for him to use and abuse as he sees fit, wherever that leaves you with bruises or just means to satisfy him is up to his flighty moods.

And it's so hard to gauge him; some days he treats you like an object, other days he takes his frustrations out on you in ways you'd rather not think too hard about.

The only real indicator of his mood you have is how he takes care of you - the angrier he is, the less comforts you will get, the happier he is, the more gifts you will get - it doesn't even matter if you're good for him or not.

To your surprise, he doesn't fuck you much - at least not your cunt; your mouth however, is full of his cock whenever he wants. He loves to abuse your sensitive gag reflex; slipping into your throat and fucking you roughly until you almost pass out. More often than not when he slips out of your mouth, strands of blood and saliva follow him.

It's __worse__ when he doesn't give you any water to drink afterwards, leaving you with only his taste on your tongue.

Besides the need of his touch, your terror of him grows as well; shrinking in on yourself whenever he enters your room, trying to hide yourself from him to no avail, crying and shaking, and worst of all __melting with pleasure__ when he forces you to feel pleasure from the way he's abusing you. When he takes you to that edge over and over again without taking you over it, leaving you to fall into complete hysterics in his arms.

This was your fate.

There was nothing else for you left but to endure his cruelty. Your resistance melted away until you're nothing more than merely a shadow of the once proud Warrior of Light.

And when he fetches you, to go through that portal with him, __to one of his rooms__ , you don't have any more strength to defy him, willingly going along as he leads you by your chains...

* * *

Candle lights flood the room he leads you in, the flames casting eerie shadows on your body. The chains connecting your piercings glitter and glow as you whimper with every shaky step.

Gasping for breath you stop walking - you're so wound up from a mere couple of steps alone with the way he leads you by the chain attached to your clit piercing.

Your brows draw together in a forlorn frown as you sway uncomfortably on your feet, fully exposed to his gaze.

Emet-Selch does not care for your dawdling. He simply keeps on going to the chair near the fireplace while the chain in his hand grows taunt, and tugs roughly at your clit. He seats himself, with his elbow propped up on the arm rest, and his face leaning comfortably on his fist.

You whimper, barely able to take a step forward even if it was to simply alleviate the pressure on your sensitive organ.

Your breath comes out in harsh puffs with spit running down the corner of your mouth. Being so sensitive, __so exposed__ \- you feel weak and high strung, and despite knowing what he wants from you, you could hardly move without uncomfortable pleasure spiking through you.

"Are you quite finished with your dawdling?"

You know he's losing patience with you, and your thoughts start to race with all the times he cast you back into that dark abyss whenever you defied him. There, in that terrifying darkness, you truly fell apart, every bit of your personhood dying away the longer he chose to keep you there.

In the end, it was always easier to surrender to him.

So you nod as you take another tentative step towards him, your face contorting as you stop to groan brokenly.

He huffs impatiently, twirling the chain around his fingers to tug, __hard__. The piercings and chains sway and gently chime with the sudden movement, starkly contrasting the pained cry falling out of your mouth.

White hot agony crawls through your clit, and your knees start to shake with the effort to keep yourself upright.

"Come here, __now__ ," he commands you sternly; very much like an owner who has to deal with an unruly pet. His eyes narrow as you stumble forward clumsily to escape the pain, "Do not keep me waiting any longer, __girl__."

Unable to keep standing anymore, you sink to your knees, trembling and frightened. Bowing your head down, you hope he doesn't see the tears rolling down your cheeks.

You feel the little impatient tugs he gives you right down to your core, your toes and fingers curl. Your forehead nearly touches your knees, and he clicks his tongue at your antics.

"Am I known for my infinite patience when it comes to you?" he sighs, his lips curling into a sneer, " _ _Crawl__ if you can't walk pet. You'll end up on your knees anyhow. So. Quit. Stalling."

The next tug is even sharper, as are the sounds leaving your throat, but your knees shimmy together as you finally manage to shuffle forward, stopping only when you come to rest between his knees.

His boot lifts to shove your legs apart, exposing your glistening, sensitive cunt for his scrutinizing gaze.

"You're leaking," he says and you close your eyes tightly. Unable to bear looking into his disgusted face, you bury your face against the fabric of his pants, feeling thoroughly ashamed of yourself.

"I'm s-sorry."

"Pathetic," he hisses and sinks his hand into your locks, yanking your head upwards until your back is bent in an arch. A deep, hollow, terrified noise rumbles out of your throat, and you look at him with wide, pleading eyes

You whimper; all you want from him was a little comfort, despite knowing that you're going to be put through even worse in just a few moments.

There's nothing but cold cruelty in his eyes, accompanied by that frightening smile that held no love for you and only served to drive that spark of fear deeper into your heart.

He caresses your cheek, thumb sliding below your eye, and you hold your breath in anticipation.

"You know," he starts, sounding very much like he was talking more to himself than to you, "they say the eyes are the window to one's soul." You tense below him, already disliking where this particular thought of his was going.

Emet-Selch scoffs, digging his thumb deeper into your skin. "Of course, I can see yours anytime I please - that mangled, disgusting, tainted spark within you. As if I'm not punished __enough__ already."

The shadows on his face grow darker, candlelight flickering lower and lower, and you can do naught but cower in his hold.

His hands move to cradle your face, stroking you with an unsettling softness. Any soothing intent this gesture might have had drowns in the absolute fear you feel for this man and his capability to unmake you.

"However, I think it would be rather poetic to have you stumble in darkness, with nothing but me to guide you."

Your heart sinks, thinking back on the times you've spent in your prison.

"No, no please-" you choke on a gasp.

With a snap, he takes your movement from you again. Your heart drops to your stomach as he reaches for one of the bigger, black candles and you're left to stare with wide, fearful eyes at the wax that dripples delicately over his gloved fingers.

"Feel free to scream, my pet. I __do__ so love to hear your agony."

He lifts the candle, and tips it over so the molten, obsidian sea of wax spills over the edge to splatter across the bridge of your nose, and into the corners of your eyes.

And scream you do.

The sensation of your sensitive eyes burning under the piping hot wax is blindingly painful, the noises you let out are those of a desperate, frightened animal.

He smiles down at you - his teeth glinting between his parted lips - and when he brings that candle closer to your right eye, you realize with ice-cold horror that his malicious filled face is the last thing you'll ever see.

You weep and whimper, tears streaming down your face. The fire of the candle is so close to you, that it feels like your eyeball is melting away as soon as the hot wax hits you.

One drop.

And another.

__And another._ _

"Of course, we have to do this over and __over__ again. Wax tends to crack, you know," he says rather casually over your screeching as more and more droplets cover your eye, "However, that's the beauty of it, don't you agree? That lovely suffering I put you through, this intimacy which is only for us, how __adoring__ you're becoming _ _just for me__."

His words send a chill down your spine. You knew he was viewing you as nothing more than an object for his pleasure, but __this__ -

Your right eye is shut completely now under a seal of wax, mangled and burned. It doesn't even feel normal to you anymore, and you're terrified what will happen if he ever decides to free you completely from this.

"Please," you sob, "Please no more, I can't take it, pleasepleaseplease __please, it's too much.__ "

"You will take what you're given"

His thumb presses against the underside of your eye before he forcibly opens your lids wide, and then he tips the candle again to drip the wax into your left eye.

Your ears ring so loudly that you don't even recognize your own sounds of agony anymore; you just hope with every new drip of the wax that __it'll be over soon__.

You wish you could pass out; the pain being so unbearable, hot white agony searing __into you__ , but he holds you over that sea of unconsciousness again by dragging your aether around as he pleases.

The wax drips and drips for an eternity - so much that you feel the weight on your face with how many layers he puts on you. It overflows to your cheeks and chin, like brittle grotesque tears covering your visage like a mask.

When you hear him put the candle down, and hum in satisfaction, you stutter out a sigh of relief; even more so when he grants you your movement again, and you're free to curl into yourself to fall apart at his feet.

You sob, but no tears come forth, unable to shed them behind that seal of wax that completely traps you in darkness, and worse, at his mercy.

"There we are," he breathes out. You can't tell what that emotion in his voice is now that you cannot see his face. You feel his hands run down your face in a delicate manner, to your neck, over your heart, and down to your breasts, where he gathers the chains to tug you up.

You follow the silent command, this time, without rebelling against it at all. You're too afraid, __too broken__ , to do anything. So you crawl up into his lap obediently, toppling forward to rest your face against his neck.

"My perfect pet," Emet-Selch whispers into your ear, "Ruined and broken, only for me to use and abuse."

He pets your hair gently, and you feel his breath over your face as he presses a short kiss to your quivering lips.

__"My precious Azem."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to yell (lovingly) at me or watch me have meltdowns about my writing, you can find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/marzyciel_txt)


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